Telstra is front and centre
In an orange jump-suit,
(it’s always an orange jump-suit).
To the sides and behind are the true believers,
Heads up as the last rites are intoned
From the Holy Prospectus
(in a language foreign to me).
The faithful shuffle restlessly as they wait,
Tormented by the Corporate Tapeworm,
While fingering their Senate trigger.
At last it’s done and Telstra’s head comes off
In one great flourish.
The knife was sharp and well prepared for years.
The torso slumps so slowly, but inevitably.
The Leader flourishes the head aloft.
His tapeworms will dine well tonight.
And just to reinforce who is the boss
Intone with Him, Australia’s unofficial anthem,
“Resistance is useless”
“Resistance is useless”
You bastards!
———
BLACK DOG
Money has no existence
Apart from useful energy.
Oil is a Black Dog
And money just the tail.
The fleas live on the tail
Because that is where the money is.
The only thing those fleas will ever see
Is that dog’s backside
As it goes forever away.
——————–
MAKES SENSE
Money is the best way there is
To put the greatest distance
Between our actions
And their consequences
Said the man with red hair
As he wiped his arse
With a forest
(bleached of course
and two ply)
Chris Shaw, Feral Metallurgist
Moses Iten
April 25, 2005 at 07:44
(I) was pulled in by this glaring silver book of a faceless man covered with “seeing the light” (and published by City Lights Books). it’s by experimental californian filmmaker James Broughton who died some years ago, and produced his first film in 1946. some of his words:
‘Try, as if you were one of the first men, to say what you see and experience and love and lose,’ wrote Rilke to his questioning young poet. Only thus will you discover what Emerson called your own peculiar ‘angle to the universe’.
True poets are as anarchic as Jesus and Lao-Tzu. They particularly love revolutions, for revolutions are symbols of freedom from the major enemies of art: cops, critics, and collective inertia.
Every artist is in revolt. Because he is revolted by the passion for ignorance, greed and laziness in his fellow men. He knows a livelier realm where they might dwell, if only they could see the Light. So he tries to show them the Light. And they can’t see it. They don’t want to see it. They say, ‘I don’t see anything in it.’ So he tries again. He lights another lamp, he makes another revolution.
But let us keep clear what kind of revolution we are talking about.
Poets are not moral examples to society. Their value is in being obstreperous, outlandish and obscene. Their business is to ignite a revolution of insight in the soul.
Moses Iten